


all my down and outs

by mayerwien



Series: all of these stars will guide us home [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conversations, Filipino Lance (Voltron), Gen, Light Angst, Vietnamese Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 09:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/pseuds/mayerwien
Summary: Keith sits there and doesn’t say anything. He feels like this sometimes, when the three of them talk or banter—small and weird and forgotten—and it took a while for him to realize that it has nothing to do with the fact that they’ve known each other for much longer than they’ve known him.





	all my down and outs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluejane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejane/gifts).



> yeah Keith’s just an awkward insecure bean but what else is new
> 
> This little oneshot goes out to Mich, who is always so sweet and kind and who helped me out last month, and who requested some museumverse angst. (Ouch, Mich.) Sorry this took a while, but I hope you enjoy!

“Okay, okay what about— _name one moon in our solar system that isn’t Earth’s moon?”_ Lance asks.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Keith says, as Hunk starts to write it down on his clipboard.

“Wait, but this is supposed to be the _medium_ round,” Pidge argues. “That can’t be a medium-difficulty question when we have a _giant map of our solar system_ plastered on the lobby wall.”

“She has a point,” Hunk says. They’re having lunch in the food court; the four of them are using their break to write questions for the museum’s upcoming quiz night, and Hunk’s brought in cupcakes for everyone. “The participants are people who signed up for the event, so they’ll probably know their stuff.” He erases what he’s written and flips the page, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “Bumping that question down to Easy…”

“Okay, well, at this rate we won’t have any questions for the hard round,” Keith points out, taking a bite of vanilla cupcake that melts right on his tongue. _(Damn,_ Hunk.)

“They don’t have to be identification questions,” Pidge says. “We can have the contestant explain something, like, name three differences between the Hubble telescope and the Webb telescope.”

“Ooh, good one, Pichi-pichi,” Lance says.

“Um,” Keith says, while Pidge gives Lance a dark look and mutters _I told you not to call me that._ “What _are_ the differences? Webb is the Hubble successor, right—so doesn’t it just have a farther reach?”

Hunk perks up. “Well, yeah. But see, _because_ Webb has a farther reach, the objects it looks at are so distant that they’re redshifted—so Webb needs to be infrared, in a way that Hubble isn’t.”

“Right,” Keith murmurs, feeling his cheeks warm.

“Also, Webb’s mirror is six-point-five meters in diameter, which means it has like, six times the light collecting area Hubble does,” Lance says, eyes shining. “It’s the biggest mirror we’ve ever launched into space!”

“Uh-huh. And when you become a pilot, you’ll be the biggest _dork_ we’ve ever launched into space,” Pidge quips dryly.

“Wh—hey, that was a low blow! _And_ more uncalled for than the SpaceX Roadster!” Lance yelps, while Hunk just snickers.

Keith sits there and doesn’t say anything. He feels like this sometimes, when the three of them talk or banter—small and weird and forgotten—and it took a while for him to realize that it has nothing to do with the fact that they’ve known each other for much longer than they’ve known him. It’s how _much_ they know, how they make all these nerdy jokes and references without having to try very hard. Mostly it doesn’t bother Keith, because he knows they’re not really showing off; that that’s just how they are. But every once in a while, it makes him feel like he’s from a totally different planet.

Keith knows he’s not dumb, but he knows he’s not smart, either—at least not in the way that most schools appreciate. And it bothers him now, in a way it didn’t before, and he also doesn’t like knowing he’ll have to go home and secretly Google half of the things his friends were laughing about.

While the other three continue to talk excitedly about Webb, Keith excuses himself and sneaks off to the lobby. He figures he can collect himself there for a few minutes—but just his luck, right as Keith is leaning back against the wall and starting to take deep breaths, Coran comes in whistling.

“Oh. Pardon me, I didn’t realize we had converted this room into a stable,” Coran remarks, the ends of his mustache twitching upward.

“What?” Keith says in bewilderment.

“A stable.” Coran gestures to his own chin. “Because you have a long face…like a horse?”

“Ugh.” Keith buries his hands in his hair and plops down on one of the benches. “Great. Another thing on the long list of things I need explained to me today, because I’m an _idiot.”_

He can feel Coran sit on the end of the bench, a good enough distance away that he’s not invading Keith’s personal space, and Keith softens a little. Sighing, he amends, “Okay, I know I’m not an idiot. It’s just—sometimes around here I feel like I’m two steps behind everyone else, and even if I’m running to catch up I can never get there.”

Keith looks up. Coran is watching him patiently, no sign of judgment on his face. “I mean, I remember stuff from the documentaries I watch, and Reddit threads and things like that,” Keith blurts out. “I can cook, kind of, and fix a motorbike, but that’s about it. I’m not— _like_ the others. What makes me think I can get into the freaking _Space_ Academy? What if—what if this whole time I’ve just been fooling myself?”

It feels embarrassing and awful and relieving, all at once, to let it out like this—and as soon as he's finished Keith wishes he could take it back. But Coran is just silent for a moment. Above their heads, clusters of stars and nebulae are being projected onto the high ceiling, in time with the ambient music that floats out of the speakers and echoes all around them.

“Keith," Coran says finally. His voice is kind, but firm, and he tilts his head sideways to look at Keith better. “Now you listen to me. This summer alone, you’ve worked incredibly hard. Everyone here has noticed it. I know, for instance, that you’ve been doing a lot of reading and studying on your own in your spare time. Correct?”

“Yeah,” Keith mumbles, thinking of all the books he carries around with him in his backpack.

“You’re an excellent docent, and whatever gaps in your learning or experience there are, you take initiative and do your best to fill them. And you’re clearly passionate about space, and about going to the Academy.” Coran spreads his arms wide, gesturing at the museum around them—the maps on the walls, the constellations and clouds of dust shimmering as they move across the ceiling. In the relative scheme of the universe, all just tiny parts of it, that they’ve tried to capture for themselves—to remind themselves of how much is out there still. “No one is born knowing all of this, Keith. What matters is that we do our best to learn. To try. And whatever happens, wherever you end up—that will count. I promise.”

A lump has been forming in Keith’s throat the whole time Coran has been talking. He’s not used to hearing such glowing praise about himself, and if he’s being honest, he’s not sure he believes it yet. But it’s giving him hope, and right now, he thinks that’s enough.

“Thanks,” Keith croaks softly.

Coran smiles and nods at him—and then, inexplicably, holds his fist out. Bemused, Keith looks at it, and then up to Coran’s face.

“Go on, give us a fist bump,” Coran says, enunciating the words proudly. “I’m told it’s what’s hip and funky fresh these days.”

“Please never say _hip and funky fresh_ again, Coran,” Keith says with a grin as he fistbumps him.

Coran just wiggles his eyebrows. “See you on the flip side, homie,” he says, sauntering away, and Keith smiles and runs back into the food court to rejoin his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> y’all are crowdfunding the museumverse and i love you
> 
> (also, pichi-pichi is a very delicious Filipino dessert, and Lance would absolutely nickname Pidge that, and she would absolutely hate it)


End file.
